


Milk and Honey

by nuclearjessels



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 02:10:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuclearjessels/pseuds/nuclearjessels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>South Dakota winters are bitingly cold, nasty affairs. On one particularly frozen night in mid-november the wind-chill brought temperatures down to around 15 degrees fahrenheit with a light blustering of snow that made driving difficult. So John Winchester decided to give the Impala, and his boys, the night off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Milk and Honey

**Author's Note:**

> This pairing is my absolute favorite even though it's pretty rare. I love the idea of domestic moments between Bobby, John, and their boys, and this is what happened. I wanted to contribute and I hope you enjoy! Feedback is always lovely :)

         South Dakota winters are bitingly cold, nasty affairs. On one particularly frozen night in mid-november the wind-chill brought temperatures down to around 15 degrees fahrenheit with a light blustering of snow that made driving difficult. So John Winchester decided to give the Impala, and his boys, the night off. He had tried his best to bundle them up against the cold, but keeping warm was expensive. Sam was wrapped in an old scarf and John’s leather jacket, which came down to his knees. All that was visible as he waddled up to Bobby’s door was a pair of wide eyes, a pink nose and a mop of dark hair. Dean hurried after him, shivering in a second hand coat because he’d given Sammy his scarf. When the boys reached the door, Dean had barely reached up to knock when Bobby opened the door, scooped up both boys into his arms and in quite the feat of strength, carried them both inside. John couldn’t help but smile as he grabbed the duffle bags and followed them inside. It had only been about a month and a half since they last stayed with Bobby. As much as John hated to admit it, their stays were getting longer and more frequent. But the warmth of Bobby’s welcome kept him coming back, kept some small broken part of him thinking maybe, just maybe, they could have a sort of home together. In any case, the boys loved him, and when John walked inside he heard Sam’s shrieking laughter from the kitchen. Placing the two duffle bags near the door he followed the sound and found Sam and Dean seated at the table, Bobby stirring a pot of something on the stove and smiling at them. John opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted when Sam proclaimed,

         “Bobby’s making soup, Dad!”

         “I can see that, what is it?”

         Bobby shrugged. “Just some beef stew. Warms you up,” he said.

         “Well it’ll be nice to get something in us that isn’t diner food,” John said.

         Bobby returned to the stew and John moved to unbundle Sam. Sam stuck his little lip out in defiance because he wanted to do it himself, but his tiny fingers couldn’t undo the buttons. Dean was chattering away to Bobby about how John was gonna take him out and he was gonna learn to shoot pretty soon. John avoided Bobby’s eyes. He knew how he felt about the situation. Oblivious to any sort of tension, Dean kept talking until Bobby announced that the stew was ready and John told Dean to get out the bowls.

         “Yes, sir!” Dean said as he rushed over to the cabinet.  
  
          Bobby pulled out spoons and ladled the stew into four bowls, setting one down in front of each of them. Sam and Dean tucked in with enthusiasm, barely stopping to breathe between bites, and dinner passed quickly and quietly. John was too busy wolfing down his own food to engage in conversation, anyways. When they’d finished, Bobby put all the dishes in the sink.  
  
          “Let’s all move into the den,” he said, breaking the silence that still lingered after dinner, “I’ll get a fire started.”  
  
           John nodded, “Need me to go grab some wood from out back?”  
  
          “Alright, you know where the shed is” Bobby said.  
  
          John pulled on his boots and then his leather jacket, and as he stepped out the door into the icy evening for the short trek to the shed he was glad for it. The wind had picked up since they arrived and the icy darkness bit at his face and whipped around the tree branches. After selecting a few decent logs from the pile, he hurried back inside. When he entered the den, he found Sam and Dean on the floor clutching mugs and Bobby seated on the couch talking softly with them.  
  
         “Thanks,” said Bobby as he got up to take it from him before kneeling down to light the fire. John removed his boots and coat and took a seat on the couch, placing one hand softly on Dean’s head. Dean turned to smile at his dad, and John noticed how tired his boys looked after they’d been fed and warmed up a little bit.  
  
          “What you drinking there, son?” He asked.  
  
          “Milk I think, Bobby gave it to us” said Dean.  
  
          “Milk with a little bit of honey,” Bobby said as he prodded the kindling and watched one of the logs start to catch.  
  
          “Try it Dad, it’s really good.” Dean offered his cup to John.  
  
          “No, its yours. Drink up, because you and your brother need to be getting to bed pretty quick here.”  
  
          “Yes, sir,” Dean said and turned sleepily back to his cup. Sam’s eyelids were drooping. Bobby had joined John on the couch, and John closed his eyes for a moment, warm and content. It felt good to feel safe. It felt good to know that Bobby was here and that nothing was coming to get him, that half his mind wasn’t back in a seedy motel room with his boys, worried sick. _This must be what home feels like_. The thought slipped in and settled into the back of his mind. The word home was never this simple for John, but if he tried hard enough he could avoid dwelling on the past. For now, at least, with his boys sitting at his feet and Bobby by his side. Maybe 15 minutes passed in a contented silence. When he glanced around at them he noticed that Sam had curled up in front of the fire like a cat and was starting to doze.  
  
          “Bed!” he announced, getting up from the couch and picking up Sam, who just kept getting heavier it seemed.  
  
          Putting the boys to bed was a fairly simple task, and after they were safely tucked in and fast asleep, John and Bobby returned to the fire and collapsed on the couch. The warm feeling in his gut still hadn’t gone away, and John didn’t try to fight it tonight when Bobby ran his fingers up his forearm in the silence. It felt good, really good. Bobby’s fingers were rough, but his touch was gentle and John felt a little bit of that heat start to pool in his groin. They sat there for a while, Bobby tracing John’s veins, before either of them dared to speak.  
  
          “I miss ya, John,” Bobby said, his voice was gruff and honest, “I wish you’d come ‘round more often. Stay a bit longer. We’d make great huntin’ partners.”  
  
          Bobby always said this. Every damn time John was here, he wanted him to stay longer. He never said it, but John knew if Bobby had it his way, John would move in and stay forever, hunting be damned.  
  
          “You know I stay as long as I can,” John said, pulling his arm away from Bobby’s fingers, a small bit of warmth fading from the room.  
  
          “I’m sure Sam and Dean would...”  
  
          “Bobby, please. I don’t wanna talk about it right now. I’m tired and we’ve had this conversation before. I stop by when I can.” John looked at Bobby and willed him to understand. Yes, his boys would love to stay at Bobby’s. But if he was gonna have any chance of finding that demon, he needed to stay on the road. And then there was the problem of this...this thing growing between the two of them. Bobby was his friend, a fellow hunter who also knew a thing or two about loss, who loved his boys and tried his damnedest to keep John human in spite of it all. He couldn’t stay here and play house and forget all about Mary. His hand instinctively went to his wedding ring, twisting it around his finger in what had ceased to be a habit and had become more of a wordless mantra. A promise. But that promise was getting harder and harder to keep in this fog swimming around in John’s head. After four years of blood, dirt, and vengeful spirits, he was beginning to forget the smell of Mary’s hair. Bobby was real. Bobby was right here, wanting him, caring about him. Not giving him an ultimatum, but offering him a chance.  
  
          So he kissed him. He ceased trying to communicate with words and tried to convey meaning with warm lips and the scruff of stubble on stubble. This kiss was soft at first, but Bobby pushed forward, grabbing John’s waist and pulling him in. Desperate for this closeness, John knocked off Bobby’s cap and fisted one hand in the hair at the nape of Bobby’s neck, his other hand clutching his shoulder. It had been a while since they had kissed like this, but muscle memory is an amazing thing, and John had spent many a cold lonely night replaying their encounters in his head. He broke the kiss for a moment, pressing their foreheads together and shutting his eyes, focusing on both of their heavy breathing. Bobby moved his hands under John’s shirt, teasing his fingers along his abs. John’s breath hitched and suddenly the room went from its pleasant warmth to a scorching heat born of the heavy tension between the two men.  
  
          “John, you don’t know what you do to me,” Bobby whispered. Never one to bother with words where action would suffice, John replied by slowly rubbing the heel of his hand against the bulge in Bobby’s jeans. Bobby arched back, inhaling sharply as his fingers tightened once again on John’s sides. John reveled in this debauchery, in watching Bobby, usually so reserved, come undone, and it was with a wolfish grin that he moved his body weight on top of the other man’s and pressed him down into the cushions. He leaned in to kiss him again. Bobby responded to the kiss with such fervor that it lacked all finesse, but John wanted that, _needed_ that. He needed this, this kissing in the dark that would sometimes end in fucking, and sometimes just end. He needed Bobby. And it was tonight, when John pulled back to catch his breath and locked eyes with Bobby as he lay beneath him, panting and flushed, that John knew that he didn’t just need Bobby, he loved him. He was in love with Bobby Singer. He must have known it before, but it was this moment, with swollen lips and hard cocks, that he realized he couldn’t deny it any longer. It didn’t change anything. It just was. But maybe if he said it out loud, something could change, even if he wasn’t sure he wanted it to.  
  
          “I love you,” John said. Bobby looked at him, and John watched the lust in his eyes turn to something softer  
  
          “I...I love you too. Have for a while,” he said, and brought his hand up to John’s face. John turned to kiss his palm, and incredibly, started to laugh. He prayed for peace, but he never thought happiness would find him like this. He didn’t think he could love after Mary, but maybe he was wrong. And as his fingers found the buttons on Bobby’s old flannel, undoing them one by one, he knew that they didn’t have forever, but they had right now, and that was enough.


End file.
